


The Things We Do for Love

by eeksquee



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blind Betrayal spoilers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Game Spoilers, Romance, Sexual Content, railroad questline spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6127536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeksquee/pseuds/eeksquee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Varden, sole survivor of Vault 111, and the former-Paladin Danse are in love, but when Abigail makes a decision to support the goals of the Railroad, can their relationship survive? Meanwhile, MacCready harbors a crush on Abigail, who views him as her best friend and is oblivious to his attraction, watches from the sidelines, but hopes for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus

~ MacCready ~

 

In the still night air of Sanctuary, sounds carried impossibly far, especially those that MacCready really didn’t want to hear: the repetitive squeaking of bedsprings, the deep murmur of a masculine voice, the breathy sighs and gasps of a woman building to a crescendo, a space of heartbeats when the sighs were replaced with a small hiccuping sound, and finally a high-pitched keening and the loud cry of a name that wasn’t his. “Danse!” the female voice broke at the end, followed by a masculine groan and silence. 

When all was quiet again, MacCready sighed, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes and continued on his solitary walk around the perimeter of the settlement. He tried to ignore the burn in his cheeks from overhearing things he would rather not and thinking about things that were too complicated to sort out; he tried to ignore the flame of jealousy slowly burning him to ash. Passing by the house where his partner, his boss, his...whatever, lay in the arms of her lover, he heard the masculine voice say with a note of smug teasing, “ _Ad_ _victoriam_!” Followed by soft female laughter before she said, “Good thing I love you, you big goof.”

MacCready picked up his pace, urging his feet to take him further from the sounds and thoughts that plagued him. He found himself on the bridge that led out of the small settlement, out to the Red Rocket and the world beyond and considered, briefly, the urge to just keep following the road away from there, find yet another new life, maybe even go back to the Capital Wasteland to his old life. He shook his head and pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his duster. _No,_ he thought, _that wouldn’t work._ With a weary sigh, he lit the cigarette and watched the river flow under the bridge. _Distance won’t help me. It’s too late for that and I’m in way too deep._

 

~ Abigail ~

 

Abigail Varden, the sole survivor of Vault 111, the woman out of her time, and of many other titles, slowly opened her eyes in the early dawn light. Realizing how early it was, she snuggled deeper into the embrace of her lover, a man now known only as “Danse” since being stripped of his former rank and title of “Paladin”, and gently kissed his shoulder and tried to get back to sleep. 

But she couldn’t sleep. The weight of the entire Commonwealth seemed to rest on her shoulders. The whole terrible stand-off between competing factions was coming to a head and they were each looking to her to decide the fate of everyone. A decision would have to be made soon. She really didn’t want to think about all the lives depending on her, but it wasn’t going to go away just because she wanted it to.

With a sigh, she gently removed Danse’s arm draped over her hip, his hand curved possessively around her backside, and slipped out of bed. She padded to the bathroom to begin her day, washed her face and looked intently at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair, once bright and shiny as a new penny, was crudely chopped into a chin-length bob and now looked more like the rusted bottlecaps used for currency now. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks was the same, but the skin between them was redder, more weather-worn. Her brows, once so immaculately groomed into perfect arches had filled in. Gone was the round softness of her cheeks and jawline from her old life, the planes of her face were now lean and sharp, denoting the hard travel and meager rations she faced while searching for her son. 

Her son. She sighed again and thought of the sweet, gurgling little boy she had given birth to, and then of the cold, calculating old man he’d become while she slept, unaware, in the cryo-stasis of Vault 111. His eyes were the same deep green of a summer forest that hers were, but had none of the warmth. He’d been raised on dispassionate logic and scientific dogma, both things that were fine when tempered by emotion, empathy, and a healthy dose of skepticism, she thought.

For the past year, her entire focus had been on finding her baby boy but once she’d found him she realized that wanting something and having it were not just two different things, but that what you find without knowing it might be what you needed all along. She thought of the new family she’d found along the way, the love and friendship that surrounded her in this new world, and smiled gently. Most of all, she thought of the man sleeping in the next room who had come into her life at a particularly low point and had wound up stealing her heart in a way she didn’t think would be possible again after losing her husband. 

Her grin widened at the thought of Danse. _I guess the old song was right_ , she thought, _you can’t always get what you want...but sometimes you get what you need_.

 

~ Danse ~

 

Coming slowly to consciousness, Danse reached out to the spot in the bed beside him and found it not only empty, but cold. _Abigail must have woken up a while ago_ , he thought, shielding his eyes from the bright morning light that managed to find all the holes in the curtains she’d hung in the bedroom. His suspicions were confirmed when he smelled the delightful aroma of radstag steak wafting down the hallway and the faint scraping of pots and pans on the cooktop. It wasn’t often that she cooked, but it was always a special treat for him when she did, recalling special occasions from his days in the Brotherhood of Steel when the usual rations gave way to grilled fresh meat and roasted vegetables. He inhaled deeply and his stomach gave a distinct rumble.

Getting out of bed, he put on a pair of loose pants and made his way to the kitchen to find Abigail humming gently to herself while the food cooked. He grinned happily and walked behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling the side of her neck, just below her ear. She shuddered delightfully in his grasp and let out a giggle that turned into a breathy sigh as he nibbled down the length of her neck to the crook of her shoulder. 

“Good morning,” he said, his voice low and thick with sleep. 

“It is now.” She turned in his arms to kiss him slow and deep.

He pulled away and gave her a devilish smirk. “You’ll burn the steak if you keep that up.”

“Oh, hang the steak.” She reached behind her and fumbled for the controls on the cooktop to turn off the heat.

“Uh uh,” he admonished and grabbed for her hand. “A good soldier knows they have to keep their strength up before engaging in combat.” He took the spatula from her grasp and proceeded to cook their breakfast, his smirk still firmly in place.

“I didn’t realize this was a combat scenario, but it definitely will be if you don’t turn off that stove and take me back to bed this instant,” she huffed. 

“There’s no call for that,” he glanced at her from beneath beetling brows. “Food first, then we’ll see what happens.”

“Fine.” A further retort was interrupted by a loud grumble from his stomach and her scowl turned to a large grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against the broad expanse of his back.

He grabbed her left hand in his and brought it to his mouth for a gentle kiss while his right hand tended to the food. He knew she would not be subdued so easily, however, and she rolled her chest against his back. He could feel her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her T-shirt and he groaned, food momentarily forgotten. In retaliation, he stretched out one of her fingers, drew it into his mouth, and gently nipped at the tip. “If you distract me like that,” he said huskily, “I’ll just have to find other sustenance.” Danse looked at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised playfully.

Abigail drew back from him with a laugh and a light swat of his ass. “Alright, let’s eat breakfast, but then I have a few ideas for _dessert_ ,” she said, with a particular emphasis on the last word and a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows. Danse turned back to the stove with a dramatic sigh and finished cooking. 

“You know, if you’re going to stand over a sizzling frying pan, you really should put on a shirt.”

“And why is that?” he asked, amused. “Is the view not satisfactory?”

“Oh, the view is perfectly satisfactory. It’s just some words of wisdom from my mother. ‘Never fry bacon naked’ she’d say. An important safety tip and words to live by.” She took a carrot from the counter and began nibbling it.

Danse turned off the stove and plated the steaks. “I’ll remember that for next time. Now, should we eat this before it gets cold?”

They ate in contented silence, punctuated only by the sound of utensils on dishes. When they finished, Abigail took their plates back to the kitchen. She leaned over the bucket they used for washing and gently sang as she set to cleaning. Danse watched as her perfect ass bobbed enticingly until he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood so hastily that the chair he’d been sitting on upended and clattered to the floor. Abigail had just enough time to turn to him, surprised by the noise, before he scooped her up in his arms with a growl and carried her to the bedroom.

 _I’m home,_ he thought in between kisses. _She is the home I never knew I’d been missing._ And then all conscious thought fled as the last piece of her clothing hit the floor and he felt the world realign as it began and ended at the sound of her sighs.

 

~ Abigail ~

 

He laid her gently on the bed, eyes dark with lust, and kissed his way down her body. She moaned in ecstasy as he took one pert nipple into his mouth, suckling gently and teasing her with his tongue. Danse shifted his attention to her other breast and she tangled her fingers in his dark hair. Once each breast had been lavished with attention, he continued his journey down her body. While he paid attention to every inch of her torso and down to her belly button, one of his hands playfully stroked along her ribs. _Damn him_ , she thought as she wriggled under his touch and laughed until she was breathless.

“No fair!” she panted, but further protests were forgotten when he moved his hand down to run one long finger along her sensitive folds. Abigail moaned breathily as his mouth joined his finger and he stroked along the length of her arousal. He repositioned himself lower on the bed, draping her legs over his broad shoulders, and caught her clitoris gently between his teeth. “Oh my god,” she moaned.

He stopped to give her a heated look and she lifted her head, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t you dare stop!”

“I just realized that there is something more delicious than Fancy Lads for _dessert_ ,” he smirked up at her.

She huffed a laugh despite the desperation she felt for his touch. “Oh my god, you are so corny!”

He chuckled and once again bent his head to the task at hand, the task which seemed to be alternately to drive her wild with ecstasy and mad with want. She felt the buzz of an impending orgasm building in her core with each stroke of his tongue. When his finger entered her at last, she arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back in her head and explosions of fireworks screaming throughout her body, echoed in her cries of “Yes, yes, _yes_!”

Now completely boneless, she watched as Danse tenderly unhooked her legs from around his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He crawled back up the bed and gave her a languid kiss. They lay together for a minute or two while she recovered her wits.

When she could feel her toes again, Abigail pushed Danse onto his back and made her own trail of kisses down his body. At the juncture of his leg and hip, she paused to run her tongue along the sensitive flesh there as retaliation for his tickling her. He shuddered beneath her and threw one arm across his eyes. “ _Abi_ ,” he groaned, a hint of a warning in his voice and he removed his arm to mock-glare at her.

It was her turn to smirk up at him. “Now, now, turnabout is fair play. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.” 

He groaned and she took the opportunity to take his hard length into her mouth. She sucked gently at the head of his erection and ran her tongue around its circumference. His head fell back against the pillows while she bobbed her head up and down, one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft moving in time. His breathing grew labored as she continued. Finally, he reached down and grasped her shoulders gently. “Come here,” he said huskily.

Gently wiping her mouth with a few fingers, she straddled his hips and deftly positioned him at her entrance. With a roll of her hips, he was fully enveloped within her, and they both groaned at the feeling of completeness. She sat motionless for a few seconds before starting a languid rolling motion with her hips and bent over to kiss him passionately. Danse buried one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around one cheek of her ass, gently urging her on.

She kept the pace soft and slow, content to share each other’s breath as heat built in the center of her being once more. With an impatient growl, Danse grasped her leg above the knee, tightening his grip on her backside, and deftly rolled them so he could pick up the pace. He snapped his hips once, twice, and set a faster rhythm while hitting the spot of sweetest pleasure within her. Danse braced himself on one arm, the other still wrapped around her leg to keep her steady. 

Abigail gazed into his eyes. The love and passion she saw there was enough to push her over the edge, and she threw her head back and gasped his name. He followed her into bliss shortly after with a long groan of “Abigail” and “I love you.” Danse kissed her gently and rolled to the side, tucking her against his chest. They basked in their afterglow together, eventually both drifting off into a doze.

 

~

 

As the early afternoon light filtered into the room, Abigail lifted her head from Danse’s chest and looked into his dark eyes. “I’ve decided to head out this afternoon to Boston.”

“Oh? What are we going to do in Boston?” he asked, brows raised in honest confusion.

Her hand paused where it had been drawing idle circles on his chest and she looked away from him nervously. “You’re not coming with me.” He started protesting and she put her hand to his lips to forestall the argument she knew was coming. He glared over her hand as she spoke again, “You know the Brotherhood will shoot you on sight and downtown is crawling with them. I can’t risk it...I can’t risk you.”

His dark glower softened and he nodded before kissing her fingertips and then pulling her in for a searing kiss. When they broke apart, both needing air, she continued her explanation. “Things are coming to a head with the Institute, the Railroad, and the Brotherhood. I need to tie up some things and figure out what I’m going to do.”

“I see. And have you an idea of which way you’re leaning?” 

Again she couldn’t meet his eyes, finding something intensely interesting in the corner of the room instead. With a steadying breath she said, “I think I have to support the Railroad.”

 

~ MacCready ~

 

MacCready was working on calibrating the scope on his sniper rifle when he heard the commotion coming from Abigail’s house across the street.

“What? Why would you do such a thing?” Danse’s voice thundered through the window.

“Don’t yell at me!” Abigail fired back with considerable heat to her own voice.

He heard the sound of bed springs squeaking in protest as its occupants hurriedly got up. MacCready couldn’t help the small flutter of hope in the pit of his stomach as he overheard their argument. Finishing up his modifications and squaring away the workstation helped settle his overactive imagination, all the while wishing he was closer to their window and could hear more clearly.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to be any closer as the occupants of the house emerged not long after. Abigail’s hair was mussed and it looked as if she’d dressed in a hurry. “They’re the only ones who make sense,” she was saying while strapping on her armor and stumbling down the walkway.

“Sense? Explain to me how those harborers of abominations are in any way sensible?” Danse’s face was contorted with disdain.

“Do you even listen to yourself? God! How brainwashed are you by Brotherhood rhetoric? _You_ ,” she turned and poked one finger into the large man’s chest, “ _are one of those so-called abominations!_ ” A startled hush fell on the entire settlement at that. Everyone knew what Danse had only recently found out about his origins, that he was a synth, but it was a shock to hear Abigail, of all people, call him out on it. MacCready felt his eyes widen, momentarily as taken aback as Danse seemed to be.

Abigail gasped and took a half-step back from Danse, her face fallen with the realization of what she’d said. “Oh, god, Danse. I didn’t mean that,” she apologized, reaching one hand towards him.

Danse took a step back and avoided her reach. He spoke again, softer than before, but still loud enough to carry across the street, “No, you’re right. I am an abomination.” He sighed and his shoulders sagged in defeat. 

MacCready didn’t particularly like Danse, for many complicated reasons, but in that moment he kind of felt sorry for him. MacCready had lost a lot of things in his lifetime: a home, a wife, an entire life, but he’d always known who he was. Losing your entire reality and sense of self had to be a real kick in the teeth, even to someone who seemed to have the emotional range of the average tato.

“Please let me explain,” she said sadly. While he wasn’t overtly trying to watch them, MacCready was glancing their way and saw Danse nod. “The Brotherhood wants to kill you on sight on misguided principle. The Institute thinks that you and all other synths are property. They’d just as soon wipe your memory and have you docilely tending the trees in their perverted little underground terrarium. So both of those groups are right out. I’m doing this for _you_ and the Railroad is the only group out there that can help me keep you safe from the other two.”

MacCready knew that Abigail was wasting her time and energy trying to make the man see anything wrong with his former comrades. Despite everything, Danse was still loyal to the Brotherhood. After what felt like an eternity, Danse sighed and said, “I love you, Abi, but I can’t support you in this.” 

It was like watching one of the Brotherhood’s vertibirds slowly spinning out of control and crashing. MacCready wondered if there would be any survivors and listened as she tried to make Danse understand the hypocrisy, but the man was nothing if not stubborn. Danse was glowering at her as he asked, “After all the Brotherhood gave you, how can you just turn your back on them?” 

MacCready heard her sniff and her voice was thick with emotion when she replied, “Danse, the only good thing to come out of my association with the Brotherhood was you, and they’d kill you without a thought. Why can’t you see that?” 

“And yet you’d turn to one of the groups I dedicated my life to fighting. The Railroad supports the abuse of technology. You, of all people, should understand that the abuse of technology will lead to the further destruction of mankind!” he argued, voice once again raised.

Abigail finally finished buckling the rest of her armor in place and was straightening her hair when she glared at him. “No, you don’t understand. It wasn’t the ‘abuse of technology’ that led to the Great War, it was the kind of blind zealotry and absolutism espoused by ideologues such as Elder Maxson and his ilk. _Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus_ , indeed. What utter bullshit!”

MacCready’s eyebrows rose practically to his hairline, he understood what she was doing. The boss was really dropping those fancy five-cap words, which only happened when she was really upset and wanted to put a layer of protection between herself and the world. She used big words as a form of armor like he had once used swearing. If people are shocked by your language, they’re less likely to poke at you and see what’s underneath. 

When Danse didn’t reply, she threw her hands in the air in exasperation and turned on her heel to cross the street. “Fine. I’ll do what I need to do to end this,” she growled. “You just stay here and guard Sanctuary and I’ll take MacCready.” 

Danse bristled at that, affronted. “That...that mercenary?” He seemed to be struggling to find the words to express his disdain for the idea. “How can you possibly trust him to watch your back? For all you know he’d sell you out for a handful of caps!” 

Finally having heard enough, and feeling more than a little irked at this jab at his loyalties, MacCready piped up from across the road, “Hey, it’d take more than a _handful_!” He winked at Abigail, who rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “Besides, some of us know who our true friends are. I think she’s safer with me than you right now, you big walking can of Cram.”

As if just realizing that they’d had an audience, Danse looked at him with a start. “What did you just say?” The anger was practically radiating off of him and there was a fire in his eyes as he started across the road towards MacCready, one hand pushing up the sleeve of his shirt. MacCready was not a coward, and would never run from a fight, but he was a sniper for a reason. Having a very large, very angry, very strong man who could probably wad him up and throw him away like an old sock, get within pummeling range was not the way he preferred to do battle. 

Steeling his nerves, MacCready tossed his hat to the side and started rolling up his own sleeves. Just as Danse got to his side of the street, MacCready was slightly relieved to see the small woman he called “Boss” jump in front of the larger man and place her hands on his chest. Effectively stopping Danse in his tracks, she also shot a glare MacCready’s way.

Looking between the two men in exasperation, she said, “Oh, please, I could die from testosterone poisoning here. Cool it, both of you, or I’ll take Dogmeat and leave you both here to stew.” Grudgingly, both men backed up and returned their sleeves to rights. 

MacCready couldn’t help the smugness he felt that Abigail wanted him to go with her, that she was leaving her big metal galoot behind and taking him instead. He headed to his bunk to get his gear with a lightness to his step and a jaunty tune on his lips.

 

~ Danse ~

 

Danse sat on the edge of the bed and watched her pack. Occasionally he’d contribute to her efforts by handing her an item or reminding her where she’d last put something. Their fight had left him uneasy, but he didn’t know what to do about it. They’d had their first major fight and now she was leaving with someone else, someone he didn’t trust to protect her as well as he could. There was too much left unsaid and it sat very poorly with him. He liked things clean, precise, predictable. This mess of emotion he felt was a new thing he could do without, but that would mean being without her and her love. That was completely unacceptable, so he simply watched her, his heart heavy.

When Abigail finished packing and headed towards the door, he followed in her wake. Outside, she turned to him and looked like she was about to say something, but she closed her mouth and made a move towards where MacCready stood a little way down the road. Danse couldn’t let her go without saying something. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. For a moment they just stood there in the street, simply breathing.

Finally, he kissed the top of her head and sighed, “Please be careful. If anything happened to you, I just...I just don’t know what I’d do.” She tilted her head up to look at him and he caught her lips in a tender kiss.

If his lapse in decorum surprised her, she didn’t show it. She kissed him back and it felt like goodbye. His heart felt heavier than he’d thought possible, but she looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye and said, “I will come back to you. I promise.” She kissed him again and then pulled back, a suspicious moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes. “I have to go, MacCready’s waiting for me.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of the emotion he felt cracking his voice at the end. He cleared his throat. “Be safe.”

“I will,” she said with a reassuring smile and headed down the road. 

As she passed MacCready the two men exchanged a look. _Take care of her,_ Danse said with his eyes and a jerk of his chin. _She’s safe with me,_ MacCready answered with a tip of his hat before following Abigail out of Sanctuary into whatever lay beyond.

Danse watched them go until they disappeared over the hill and then turned towards the workshop. Keeping himself busy working on his armor and weapons would help calm him and keep his mind from turning over what was happening elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus_ \- "Let justice be done, though the world perish"


	2. Si vis pacem para bellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and MacCready head to Railroad HQ in order to move on the Institute. Meanwhile, Danse and Preston make plans to prepare Sanctuary for what may come.

~ MacCready ~

 

“So, Boss,” MacCready ventured when they’d made it past the Red Rocket and down into Concord, “where’re we headed?”

Her eyes steadfastly trained on the horizon, she replied tersely, “Boston.”

“Okay, that really vagues things up nicely, thanks.” 

She ignored the smirk he leveled her way, and picked up the pace.

He didn’t like the look of barely-suppressed anger in her eyes, the clenching of her jaw, the rigidity of her posture. Abigail was usually kind of fun to travel with; she kept things loose and laughed at his bad jokes, even when things should’ve been kind of tense. This closed-off Abigail he hadn’t seen since she first hired him, and even then it wasn’t really her who had been tense and stand-offish. After running with the Gunners he wasn’t quick to trust anyone; if he was honest with himself, he’d admit that trust wasn’t ever something that came easily for him. But she had earned his trust and respect...and more. 

It was the “and more” that was the real game-changer for MacCready. After his wife, Lucy, had died... _been killed_ , he corrected himself, he didn’t think he’d ever feel anything half so deep again, and yet here was this little red-headed firecracker who had him all tangled up inside. To make matters worse, she just had to fall in love with that big tin can before he’d even had a chance to say “boo”. 

He grunted and caught up to Abigail, who’d managed to get a bit ahead. _Too far away_ , he thought, _and never will be close enough_.

 

~ Abigail ~

 

“Did you say something?” she asked, obviously startling MacCready from his own thoughts.

“What? Er, no. Just wondering if I’d brought enough .50-caliber ammo. I’m still used to my old .308.”

“You don’t like Reba 2? Barney will be heartbroken,” she gasped theatrically.

“No! She’s a beauty and I love all her sexy upgrades,” he said. “ _Don’t I, baby, don’t I love you? Don’t you listen to the bad lady_ ,” he cooed to the gun slung across his back and patted its stock lovingly. As if to punctuate his point, he swung the rifle up and quickly shot a couple of bloatflies hovering in the distance.

Abigail chuckled and punched him lightly on the arm. “Thanks, Mac.”

“Ow!” he groused, rubbing his arm as if her little tap had bruised him horribly. “Thanks for what?”

“For pulling me out of my mood. I know I had a little black raincloud following me. I just...I needed to...I don’t know,” she huffed out a breath, “But, thanks for the laugh, I needed it.”

MacCready met her eyes and turned serious for a moment. “Anytime, Boss. And...if you want to talk about anything, I’m here for you. _Always_.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” she gave him a bright smile, “but I’m not quite ready. Okay?”

He nodded his understanding and the silence between them shifted from fraught to comfortable.

 

~ Danse ~

 

After tinkering with his weapons and power armor until they were about as good as they would ever be, Danse decided that more drastic measures would be required to keep his mind occupied from thinking of Abigail and her plans. She had, after all, left it up to him to defend Sanctuary in her stead, and so he would. 

First things first; he would need to organize the settlers of Sanctuary into a reasonable militia. They could not count on whatever paltry defense the Minutemen could muster, and would need to defend themselves. Wiping his hands on a rag, he decided to talk to the one man who might understand what was needed and could help.

“Garvey,” Danse said as he approached the Minuteman second-in-command, “I would like to bolster Sanctuary’s defenses and instigate a watch rota with the settlers.”

Preston Garvey’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He had a certain respect for the ex-Paladin’s tactical and combat skill, but had little expectation that Danse would actually deign to assist the Minutemen in that regard, having made his disdain for the Minutemen’s goals pretty clear from the start. “Uh, yeah, sure, Danse. That’s a great idea. I know the general had been meaning to bolster the perimeter defenses, so it shouldn’t be a problem. What did you have in mind?”

“Excellent,” Danse nodded in approval. “We should have teams of settlers construct additional watch towers at all access points: the path to the vault, the main bridge, and all other low-points along the river approach. Spotlights and automated turrets should also be in place at each location. We will need a watch rotation in staggered shifts posted at each tower and two patrols along the perimeter at all times.”

“Right. Sturges and I will work on the logistics to get that set up. Anything else?”

“Yes. Every settler should have small arms training. If they’re not on guard duty or maintaining the crops and buildings, they should be training. We can split the training schedules between the two of us. We should also make use of all these suits of power armor Abigail has collected. I can assess the serviceability of each and judge if there are any potential candidates among the settlers to assign them to. They will then add that to their training schedules.”

Preston gave a low chuckle, “Wow, you really have thought of everything.”

“There’s more: We should construct a bunker for long-term storage of food, water, and medical supplies in case of a protracted siege.”

All the mirth left Preston and he looked at Danse intently. “Are you expecting a siege?”

“A good soldier should be prepared for any eventuality. We don’t know what kind of hornet’s nest will get kicked over when Abigail puts her plans into motion. I’d feel better if we could prepare all the settlements likewise, but it will have to be enough for Sanctuary to be the fallback position should the worst occur,” Danse finished quietly, the emotional turmoil he’d been trying to bury beneath layers of work surfacing again.

“Do you think what the general is intending will bring the fight here?”

“I don’t know,” Danse replied, a hint of sorrow in his voice. _I hope not, for all our sakes._ “Now, let’s get to work.”

 

~ Abigail ~

 

Abigail had hoped to reach Railroad HQ before nightfall, but the random raiders they’d encounted on the road put paid to that idea. Stubbornly, she refused to camp in the middle of the wasteland, and they carried on through the twilight despite MacCready’s complaning about the increasing likelihood of an ambush. Just before 11pm they finally reached the entrance to the escape tunnel leading into the crypts of the Old North Church where the Railroad had their base of operations.

“Ah, Charmer, I’m glad you’re here,” said Desdemona as they entered the headquarters itself. “I hope this means you’ve decided to work with us after all.”

Setting her pack on the ground and wearily falling into a chair, Abigail nodded. “Yes. What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Si vis pacem para bellum_ \- “If you want peace, prepare for war”


	3. Alea iacta est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail and MacCready work with the Railroad to overthrow the Institute from within. Danse and Preston work on fortifications to Sanctuary. A very warm homecoming is had when Abigail stops home in between missions.

~ MacCready ~

 

MacCready sat in Railroad HQ, cleaning his rifle for the hundredth time that day, and watched as Abigail spoke with Desdemona and Tinker Tom about their plans for taking down the Institute. He decided that he hated them. Not because he didn’t think destroying the Institute was a good thing and a long-time coming, but because all their plans seemed to hinge on putting Abigail in danger. A lump of lead settled in his chest when he realized how much danger he, himself, had put her in and how much he’d asked of her. _But that was before...Before what?_ he argued with himself. _Before I fell in love with her? For all the good that’s done me._ He sighed and continued cleaning every last nook and cranny of his gun, again.

He was so lost in this meditative action that he didn’t hear her approach, and gave a start when she playfully kicked his boot. “Earth to Mac. Come in, Mac.” She’d obviously been trying to get his attention for a while, then.

“Sorry, Boss, what’s up? You guys got a plan?”

She fidgeted with a folded piece of paper in her hands before replying. “Yeah,” she snorted derisively, “it’s not my favorite idea, but I’ll be playing double-agent inside the Institute for a while.”

“What?” He leapt to his feet with the outburst, and noticing the heads turned in their direction, asked more quietly, “What? Are you insane? If they find out you’re working against them, they’ll kill you!”

“Oh, I know that. I don’t think being the mother of “Father”, and how messed up is that,” she added as an aside, “will save me, but it has to be done.”

MacCready shook his head emphatically. “No, it doesn’t! There has to be another way, any other way than climbing into the deathclaw’s nest and poking it with a stick.”

She frowned at him. “This is the plan, Mac. If you don’t want to back me up, that’s fine. I’m getting used to that,” she said bitterly. “Either way, I need to do this and there’s something I need you to do for me.”

There suddenly didn’t seem to be enough air and MacCready swallowed thickly. “No, no, I’m here, Boss. I’m with you completely. I just don’t like the idea of you walking into danger without backup.”

“I appreciate that, Mac, I really do.” She reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He resisted the urge to cover her hand with his own. “I won’t be completely without backup. There’s a contact in the Institute that I’ll be working with. It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” he muttered. “What’s the thing you need me to do?”

She held out the folded paper. “If the worst comes to pass, I need you to give this to Danse.” He was about to protest when she held up a hand. “I don’t expect the worst to happen, but I need you to promise me you’ll give this to him if...if I don’t come back.”

He took the paper and tucked it into the pocket of his duster, nodding his understanding.

“Okay, well, I’m off. You’ll wait here for me?”

“Always.”

Abigail smiled weakly at him, fiddled with her Pip-Boy, and then disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

 

~ Abigail ~

 

As much as she didn’t want to play the spy, Abigail did what needed to be done. There were so many things she’d had to do since waking up in Vault 111 that she didn’t want to do, and there would undoubtedly be many more, but she did them because everyone else was so myopic and wrapped up in their own affairs that it took an outsider to see the big picture. Shaun and the Institute needed to be stopped. As far as she was concerned, that was all that mattered, personal feelings be damned.

After teleporting to the Institute, she met with her contact, “Patriot,” who turned out to be not much more than a boy, but one whose heart seemed to be in the right place. He, in turn, led her to Z1-14 and they hatched a plan to free 13 synths at once. _Nothing ominous about that number,_ she thought with chagrin. But there was a catch, as there always was.

A couple of hours after she’d left, Abigail blinked back into Railroad HQ for the next phase of the plan. She shook off the disorientation the matter relay always left her with and saw MacCready running over to her, a look of profound relief on his face.

“That didn’t take as long as I expected,” he said and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

She returned the embrace and patted his back. “I wish I could say it was all done, but there’s still a lot to be done. First, I need to talk to Des.” When she pulled away, she noticed that MacCready had gone a little pink. _Probably embarrassed to let everyone see what a big softy he is,_ she thought. Abigail knew that MacCready put on airs of being the hard man, but underneath the facade was a young man who cared deeply. 

In a lot of ways, he reminded her of her younger brother; Ethan had been brash and full of bluster, but had a heart as big as a whale and always had time for her. A pang of longing for her old life came over her at the recollection. She shook off the melancholy and clapped MacCready on the back. “Let’s go see what’s next, shall we?”

 

~ Danse ~

 

Danse pounded the last nail in the fence he’d been building, wiped the sweat from his brow, and surveyed the work he and the settlers had accomplished in the few days Abigail had been gone. The settlement now had impressive lookouts at each entry point and the guard rotation had been set up. Training was slow going, but there were a couple of settlers who looked to have the aptitude for combat, which was a hopeful beginning.

Preston approached and handed him a bottle of purified water. “Looked like you could use this,” he explained, watching as Danse drained it in one long pull. “And I guess I was right,” he chuckled.

“Thank you, Garvey. This heat is sub-optimal for heavy labor, but there’s still many more fortifications to be done before I’ll be satisfied.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, but you do need to take a break every so often; you’re not a mach—” Preston cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, avoiding Danse’s gaze, “I mean, you need to pace yourself before you collapse from exhaustion.” 

He chose to ignore the slip of the tongue and nodded at Preston, instead picking up his hammer and beginning on the next section of fence. “Understood. I will endeavor to take adequate rest. It wouldn’t do to prepare for an attack and be too tired to fight should it occur.”

“Right,” agreed Preston. “Dinner will be ready in the mess hall in a couple of hours. I expect to see you there. In the meantime, it’s about time for my next training session.” He gave Danse a wave as he turned to head to the makeshift shooting range they’d set up.

“Affirmative.” Danse turned back to his task. He liked this feeling of being busy, of having a purpose again. The only thing missing was Abigail. She’d only been gone a few days, but his heart ached to think of her, somewhere out in the wasteland, doing who knows what, with only that _mercenary_ as backup. He growled and pounded the nails harder, picturing MacCready’s face on each one. 

 

~ MacCready ~

 

“Why?” he grumbled, reloading his rifle. “Why is it always ferals? Just once I’d like to have a job that didn’t involve wading through hip-deep feral ghouls.” He shot another ghoul that was just about to pounce on Abigail from behind. “And could you do me a favor and watch your back?”

“But that’s what you’re here for,” she grinned at him, but the layer of grime and feral guts gave it a menacing, rather than a reassuring feeling. “Anyway, I think that’s the last of them.”

MacCready rolled his eyes at her. “That’s what you said in the last room.”

“Okay, so that’s the last of them _for now_. Better? Now, c’mon, that login has to be here somewhere.” She holstered her sleek little pistol, which had the name “Deliverer” etched elegantly along its grip, and began searching the desks.

When the Railroad boss and that creepy Assaultron, PAM, had sent them to the Cambridge Polymer Labs to find a pre-war terminal login, he’d thought it was a bit of a long shot that they’d find it. _But then_ , he reasoned, _if Abi—the Boss—could find that one little dose of the cure Duncan needed in the giant Med-Tek building, she could probably find login information in this place._ So he kept a watchful eye out as she scoured the room.

“Aha! Found it!” she exclaimed gleefully.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, alright, let’s get the he—ck out of here.” 

“Not just yet. I want to see what happens when I put these,” she held out a couple of silver containers, “in that gizmo downstairs.”

“Right. Because nothing bad ever happens when we start randomly pushing buttons,” he scoffed.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Mac? It could be something terrific!”

“...which has happened exactly never before. Fine, I’m right behind you, Boss. Way, way behind.”

When they inserted all the right components in the research terminal, Mac was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t blow up, and did, in fact, make something pretty terrific. Even better, he got a wonderfully warming sense of joy seeing Abigail bounce on the balls of her feet with giddy excitement as it finished the production cycle. Then she said, “Oh, this armor is fantastic. Danse will love it!” And, just like that, his joy crumbled into ash.

 

~ Abigail ~

 

They walked back to Railroad HQ in relative peace. The roads between Cambridge and downtown were still devoid of raiders and super mutants from their earlier trek to Cambridge. Abigail was glad of the respite and longed to get back to Sanctuary. She missed having access to regular hot meals, rather than cold Cram and the jerky they’d packed with them. Mostly, she missed the comfort of her bed, and Danse’s arms wrapped protectively around her as they slept. 

The Piezonucleic power armor in her pack was a bit heavy, but she was happy to carry it because she could just imagine the happy glow in Danse’s eyes when she gave it to him. Even if it didn’t quite fit the X-01 power armor he’d been favoring since his banishment from the Brotherhood, she was sure he would value it for its technological ingenuity.

She glanced at MacCready, who walked silently beside her. She’d noticed his mood had decidedly soured since they left the lab, but she shrugged it off as a side-effect of battling feral ghouls. “Hey, Mac, you okay?” she asked.

“Hm? Yeah? It’s just been a long day is all.” He shrugged his pack higher on his shoulders and kept walking.

“Yeah, it has. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can think about heading home for a bit of a break.” He looked skeptically at her. “Okay, maybe not, but a girl can dream.”

Once they made it back to the Old North Church, Abigail made her way to Desdemona. “Here we go, one vintage pre-war password, as ordered.”

“Excellent. I expect you’ll get that to Patriot as soon as possible, but right now I need to talk to you. PAM has predicted that this might be our last chance to get any synths out of the Institute. We need you to devise a way to get as many synths out as possible. I trust you can work something out.” Desdemona turned her attention back to the map laid out before her, and Abigail took the obvious dismissal and went over to where MacCready was leaning against a wall.

“I won’t bore you with the details, but it looks like I’m headed back to the Institute for a bit. “You okay to wait for me again?”

“What’d I say earlier, Boss? _Always_. I don’t know why you keep asking me. The answer will always be ‘Always’.”

She laughed nervously. “Just like to make sure. Anyway, I’ll see you soon.”

And once again, she disappeared in a flash. 

Her meeting with Patriot didn’t exactly go as she’d hoped. Liam was not interested in a plan that could risk as many lives as it saved, so she hedged and gave him the password he needed and then went off to talk to Z1-14, who was much more open to the change in plans to free more of his people.

“Give me 24 hours,” he said in his calm voice, “I need to talk to more of my people and see how many more wish for freedom.”

 

~ Danse ~

 

Danse was in the middle of teaching the most promising settler in basic power armor use and maintenance when he heard the peal of the lookout bell. He grabbed his laser rifle and set off at a run towards the bridge that led to the Red Rocket, ready to lead the defense. Then he heard the bell ring out again, this time in the pattern that indicated a friendly was approaching. He did a quick roster in his head; everyone was accounted for as of that morning, Trashcan Carla had left just the day before and wasn’t due back for at least a week, none of their usual provisioners were expected soon, which left only one possibility...Abigail was home. 

He picked up his pace when he saw her coming over the bridge and met her halfway. She dropped her pack and leapt into his arms. In between kisses she was murmuring how she’d missed him and Danse could swear his heart was going to burst from happiness at having her back safe. 

Without a word, MacCready picked up her pack from where it lay on the bridge and carried it up into the settlement, presumably to their house, but he wasn’t really paying attention, he was so wrapped up in welcoming Abigail home.

Eventually, they broke apart and a flush spread across his cheeks as he realized their audience and the hooting and whistling coming from the settlers who had gathered at the gate. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere else for a personal debriefing,” he muttered, embarrassed.

“Oh, I’ll ‘de-brief’ you sure enough,” she winked and took his hand. Together, they walked into Sanctuary. Any gawking was quickly quelled by a stern glance from him, and then he realized she was speaking, “...impressive, Danse. I can’t believe the improvements you’ve made in the week I’ve been gone. You’ll have to take me on a tour of everything later.”

“Garvey has been invaluable in organizing the settlers,” he admitted, “I couldn’t have done it without him.” As he finished speaking, the man in question came towards them.

“General, it’s good to have you back. I have news of a settlement that needs…” he broke off when he saw the matching glares on their faces. “Or I could delegate it to one of the patrols out that way,” he finished.

“An excellent idea, Preston,” Abigail smiled at him, “I think it’s time that the rest of the Minutemen pitch in on these sorts of jobs so I can concentrate on other matters.”

“Of course, General. I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening, then. We can speak tomorrow.”

Abigail waved a goodbye, and then another exaggerated one to the remaining settlers who hadn’t taken the hint, before they headed into the house and closed the door. The message being clear, anyone who opened that door in anything other than a dire emergency was going to face the wrong end of a laser rifle or 10mm pistol.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Danse pulled Abigail into his embrace and began kissing her anywhere he could reach. “I missed you,” he said in the curve of her neck. 

“It’s only been a week,” she laughed, tugging at the hem of his shirt, indicating her impatience that he was still wearing it.

“Felt longer,” he moaned in the hollow of her throat. For once he was thankful she favored the ridiculous Silver Shroud outfit rather than heavier, more sensible, but less accessible armor. He pulled the hat from her head and the scarf from around her shoulders. 

“At least you kept busy.” Her last word ended on a gasp as he got her trench coat open, his fingers popping open the button of her black slacks, before his hands made their way around to cup her ass.

“Distracting myself from worrying about you, Abi.” He paused in his explorations and looked at her intently. “You have no idea how worried I was. Burying myself in work seemed to be the expedient solution to two problems.”

She cupped his face tenderly and looked adoringly at him. “I understand. Now, are you going to talk or take me to bed, soldier?”

With a growl, he picked her up, unceremoniously tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her down the hallway to their bedroom. She squealed in delight the whole way.

 

~ Abigail ~

 

She was a little surprised at Danse’s reaction to her homecoming, but it thrilled her. “If this is the greeting I get every time I go away, I may just have to leave more often,” she taunted playfully when he’d put her down again.

He looked at her, both of them half-clothed, and she could see the burning desire in his eyes, marred by a slight unhappiness as he considered her statement. “No, I don’t think that would be acceptable.”

Before she could respond, he pulled her against him and frantically tugged her pants down. She stepped out of them and she fumbled with the fastening of his jeans, almost crowing her delight when she’d managed to get the last button undone and freed his erection. She gave it a teasing stroke and looked up at him coquettishly.

He pulled her in for a searing kiss and Abigail instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing in the delight of feeling his skin against hers. He, in turn, grabbed her thighs and urged her to wrap them around his waist. Danse stumbled the two steps to the wall and pinned her against it. With one hand still around her thigh, he moved the other between them and moved her panties aside to sink one finger into her center. Finding her wet and ready for him, he groaned. Abigail gasped at the sudden entry, but rolled her hips to meet his thrusting finger. Her breasts were rubbing against his chest hair and the friction was stirring them into stiff peaks.

Danse lowered his head and took one of the pink buds into his mouth, and she moaned in response. He looked up at her while his tongue swirled her nipple and seemed to ask her a question with his eyes. _Is this okay, are you ready?_ She nodded emphatically and answered aloud, “I need you inside me, right now!”

He smirked at her, pleased by her blossoming impatience, and removed his hand from between them, positioned his erection at her entrance and thrust into her. He steadied her with an iron grip on her ass and she writhed in his embrace.

“If I had my way,” he panted, “you’d never leave Sanctuary, let alone this bedroom.”

“God, Danse,” she moaned into his ear, “you say the sweetest things.”

His thrusting picked up speed and Abigail lost the ability to form words, resorting to incoherent cries that got higher in pitch as she neared her completion. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her ecstasy as he neared his own. With a few more thrusts, she clenched around him, breaking their kiss and chanting his name over and over, ending with “I love you” as he tensed with his own orgasm. 

They rested their foreheads together for the span of a few breaths, stroking each other gently in the afterglow.

“If I could trust my legs to hold me just now, I’d ask for you to put me down,” she sighed dreamily.

“And if I could count on my balance without this wall propping us up, I would comply,” he chuckled.

She grinned at him, “Then we seem to be at an impasse. What do you suggest?”

“Why fight gravity,” he said as he bent his knees and they both slid rather inelegantly to the floor. He stretched out his legs and drew her to his side.

She giggled and took her customary spot, curled beside him with her head tucked under his chin. “This works,” she said before a yawn overtook her. “Sorry, it’s been a very long week and I think I could sleep for the next week.”

“Affirmative,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Abigail closed her eyes in contentment. The last thing she felt before drifting into sleep was Danse stretching his other arm over his head and pulling the blanket from their bed. She felt it settle over them, and then she was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note** : _Alea iacta est_ \- “The die is cast”


	4. Cura te ipsum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief rest in Sanctuary. The fluff before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [edit 4/30: fixed a minor continuity error]

~ Abigail ~

She woke slowly and cracked open one eye to get her bearings. Sometime during the night, Danse must have woken and moved them both to the bed, for which Abigail was grateful; she’d slept on enough floors during her travels around the Commonwealth, she certainly didn’t need to forego the luxury of a bed when she had one handy. Her head was nestled in the crook of his arm and she spent a few moments just watching the gentle rise and fall of Danse’s chest while he slept. 

With a small snort, he woke up and met her eyes. Abigail smiled warmly at him before giving him a gentle kiss.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said playfully.

“Sleepy head? Me? I’m not the one who didn’t even move a muscle when being carried into bed last night. You were out like a light...and did you know you talk in your sleep?”

“Poor baby,” she teased, “I could always sleep in the other room…”

He cut her off with a passionate kiss. “Don’t you even think of it,” he said softly, once they’d parted. “I wouldn’t want to waste a single minute with you, whether or not we’re conscious.”

She grinned at him. “That’s what I thought. Now, how about some breakfast? I’m pretty sure I could eat an entire deathclaw, I’m so hungry.”

Abigail made a move to get out of bed, but he pulled her back until her back was flush against his chest. “Take your time getting up,” he said quietly, his breath hot against her neck, “I’ll fix you something; I don’t think I have an entire deathclaw handy, but I should be able to whip up a deathclaw egg omelette.” Danse nuzzled her neck and gave her one final kiss before getting out of bed.

She watched him walk around the room as he hunted for clothes, tempted to pounce on him and pull him back to bed, but decided she really was very hungry. He pulled on a pair of loose pants and headed for the kitchen. With a contented sigh, she rolled onto her back and smiled. A lazy day at home was just what she needed right now. 

~ MacCready ~

MacCready shot up out of bed, the last remnants of a nightmare chasing him from sleep. He looked around, desperate to find Abigail and make sure she was safe, but realizing that they were in Sanctuary and she was undoubtedly safe in her house, he flopped back onto the narrow bed in the barracks and flung an arm over his eyes with a groan. Wandering around the wasteland was good for one thing, at least, because out there he had her all to himself. Here, he had to keep his distance and share her with everyone else...especially that obnoxious can of Cram she’d fallen in love with. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and headed for the mess hall to see if there was at least something warm and filling to eat. 

Abigail certainly had set up Sanctuary like a cozy little camp, he thought. There was the barracks and mess hall in the center of what had once been her neighborhood, where she’d lived with her husband and son. He looked across the street to her house, the one where she’d once been so happy in her pre-war life and had found new happiness in this one. He sighed. _If only she’d walked into Goodneighbor_ _and not Cambridge,_ he thought. MacCready shook his head before he could go too far down the path of _what ifs_ he’d occasionally find himself wandering down. The _what if_ he’d known her before the bombs fell, _what if_ they’d had a chance to meet earlier in the present, _what if_ she’d never met that idiot in the power armor. 

The mess hall was bustling with activity as settlers began their day, preparing for another day of making the small settlement a thriving community. MacCready loaded up his tray with scrambled mirelurk eggs and slices of toasted razorgrain bread. He saw Preston, Piper, and Hancock sitting across the room and went to sit with them.

“Hey, stranger!” called Piper when she saw him approach. “What’s new? How’s Blue? I didn’t even get to see her when you guys got back before she disappeared into her house…”

“Piper, let the man eat, will ya?” Hancock interjected, before tipping his hat in greeting, “MacCready.”

MacCready filled in the group on the recent developments in between shoveling his breakfast into his mouth. 

When he’d finished, Hancock gave a low whistle. “The kid’s got gumption, I gotta give her that.”

“Is there anything we can do to help the general?” Preston asked, with a fervent nod of agreement from Piper.

“I’d say there was, but you know her, she’d just object anyway. But it looks like you guys have made some real progress on keeping Sanctuary safe,” MacCready deflected.

“That was actually pretty much all Danse,” Preston said. “He’s the one who came up with the plans and has been working harder than anyone to see it come to fruition, between training the settlers in firearms and building the defenses. Sturges and I have just been making sure things are running smoothly.”

“Ah, well, I’ve got time on my hands until we head out. I’m not much for hammer and nails, but I could maybe help out with training? You have a good sniper’s nest in these defense plans? Always good to start picking off targets before they start pounding on your gates,” he observed.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Preston said. “Let me introduce you to the folks who have volunteered for that post. I’m sure you could give them some pointers.”

The two men rose from the table and gave Piper and Hancock a nod before heading outside.

~ Danse ~

He’d just put breakfast on the table when Abigail emerged from the back of the house, wearing a freshly laundered floral dress that flowed from her hips in waves and swung enticingly. She looked the very picture he’d always had in his head of what a pre-war housewife should look like. Her hair was styled in a chin-length bob, framing her perfect heart-shaped face, to which she’d applied just enough makeup to enhance her natural beauty. He wasn’t quite sure why, but the ruby-red luster of her lips made his heart skip a beat and he momentarily lost his capacity for speech as she approached.

“Hi there,” she winked at him, amused by his stunned expression.

Danse shook himself, as if waking from a dream, and found his voice. “You look amazing, Abi. What’s the occasion?”

She looked down at herself and gave a shrug. “No occasion. Just sometimes a girl wants to put on power armor of a different sort.” She sat at her usual spot at the table, her legs daintily crossed at the ankles, and delicately placed a napkin on her lap.

“Well, in that case: ‘Ad victoriam, Paladin.’” He gave her a brief salute and took his own place at the table. He looked over at her and couldn’t help the smile that burst across his features. He reached for her hand and gently brought it to his lips before letting go. There was a sudden lump in his throat that he couldn’t account for. Clearing it, he nodded to their food. “Let’s eat, before it gets cold.”

Over breakfast, they chatted about what they’d been up to. Abigail was very impressed with Danse’s explanation of the new construction and defense plans that were put in place. In turn, he was rapt while she recounted her adventures in the Institute and of retrieving the information from Cambridge Polymer Labs.

“I wish we hadn’t been so cut off at the police station,” Danse mused. “It sounds like there was quite a wealth of technology in that lab that would keep a team of scribes occupied for months. Haylen would…” he trailed off, hanging his head with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter now, I guess.”

Abigail reached across the table and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Hey, it’s alright. I had the same thought and sent word to her about it. Since it’s practically around the corner, I’m sure a team will make it over there. But,” she continued in an excited tone, “I did get something for you while we were there.” She was already digging into her pack by the time he’d fully registered what she’d said.

“You got me something?” he asked, incredulous. “From a feral-infested lab?”

She pulled a dozen coffee mugs, five rolls of duct tape, and more crushed aluminum cans than he could count from her pack before unearthing what she was after. It amused him that she was still hoarding what he’d once thought of as only garbage, but had since come to respect as her keen eye for useful components. Once she’d shown him the modifications she’d made for his old laser rifle, Righteous Authority, using what appeared to be nothing more than an old desk fan, a clipboard, and a bottle of glue, he’d stopped critiquing her scavenging skills.

“Aha!” she exclaimed when she’d found whatever it was. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands!”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s completely necessary,” she argued and tilted her chin at him to indicate she was waiting for him to comply.

He did as she commanded and was surprised when a large, heavy piece of metal was placed in his hands.

“Okay, you can open ‘em now.” 

Danse opened his eyes and was amazed at the chest plate he held. “What’s this?” he asked, perplexed.

“It’s a modified power armor chest plate,” she replied with a note of exasperation. “What did you think it was?”

“I can see what it is, but why does it...tingle?” he quirked a brow at her.

She shrugged. “It’s an experimental polymer coating. The research notes I read says that it will absorb radiation and channel it into the power armor systems...or something like that. I didn’t understand all the science, but I thought you’d like it. I know it’s not the right model for your current power armor, but I thought, maybe, in your spare time, I dunno, that maybe you’d like to tinker and put together another set. You could have a different suit for every day of the week, and I dunno, maybe, it’d give you something to do…” He cut off her rambling with a kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her, the power armor lying forgotten on the couch.

“You’re adorable when you ramble,” he said a moment later, rubbing his nose against hers and grinning as she blushed.

“So you like it?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.

“Absolutely. And as part of the defense plans, I was going to train others to use power armor, so this will be perfect for helping to outfit the volunteers.” He pulled her close and kissed the tip of her nose. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Danse,” she said, pulling gently from his embrace. “Now, how about you take me on a tour?”

~MacCready~

MacCready was in the middle of teaching the sniper volunteers the tricks of the trade when Danse and Abigail ventured down to the shooting range. 

“Now, take a steady breath in, let it out, and then squeeze the trigger gently.” The settler’s shot went several feet over the target and MacCready fought the urge to swear and sighed exasperatedly instead. “No, don’t jerk the trigger. Squeeze gently, like you’re….” he considered an appropriate analogy, “picking an over-ripe mutfruit. Right? Now try again.” The settler nodded and crouched again for another shot, which hit the target squarely. He turned to MacCready for approval. “That’s great, now go move the target further downrange and keep at it. You should be able to pick targets off by the Red Rocket before they even get to the bridge.”

The settler scurried away to move the target and MacCready turned to Danse. “I don’t know what you were teaching these guys before, but they were yanking all their shots. It’s amazing they were hitting anything at all. I know you’re used to going hot and heavy with your laser pistol, but marksmanship requires finesse.”

Danse bristled at this and was about to protest when Abigail smiled sweetly and stood between the two men. “You’re right, Mac, there is a difference between front line fire support and distance shooting, which is why I’m glad you’re here to whip them into shape. The more we diversify the skill-set, the better. The right tool for the right job, right?” 

MacCready pulled the brim of his hat down and glanced away, muttering what sounded suspiciously like “One of us is a tool, anyway,” before straightening up and saying more loudly, “Darn right you’re lucky I’m here. Don’t worry, Boss, by the time we head out again they’ll be kneecapping molerats at a thousand yards.” 

Now it was Abigail who looked a little unhappy, “Actually, Mac, I’ll be going to the Institute next, which means you can stay here and keep up the training.”

“Oh, sure, no problem. When were you heading out?”

“Tonight, after dinner, actually.” 

“What?” Both men stared at her, bewildered. 

“But you only just got here,” said Danse, indignant.

“But we only just got here,” said MacCready at the same time. They looked at each other, mildly shocked to find they were in agreement on something for the first time ever.

“I know, but this is just a short break to give my contact inside the Institute time to work with his people,” she said somewhat sheepishly. “I’m afraid we’ll have to move quickly, so I don’t want to make my contact wait too long. I promise I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.” 

She gave them each an apologetic smile and MacCready could tell that Danse was just as unhappy about this as he was, which made him feel somewhat better.

He sighed. “Alright, if you have to go, you have to go. I’ll work on these would-be sharpshooters in the meantime.”

She brightened a bit and chucked him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Actually, I thought you might be able to help Sturges with the quartermastering while you’re here, too.”

“What, him?” asked Danse, his eyebrows nearly to his hairline in puzzlement.

“Hey, none of that,” said Abigail sharply. “I can’t think of anyone better, actually. Anyone who can manage an entire settlement of kids must have fantastic resource management skills, because personally I think that sounds like herding cats.” 

MacCready could feel his face turning pink and hot from the way she complimented his time as mayor of Little Lamplight. “Thanks, Boss. I won’t let you down,” he said.

“I know it, Mac.” With a final bright smile and pat on his back, she turned back to Danse and said something about him showing her the improved bathroom block the settlers were finishing as they wandered off. “See you at dinner tonight,” she called over her shoulder and gave a small wave.

He returned her wave and turned back to the settler who’d finished setting up the target. “Now, what can you tell me about adjusting for wind speed and direction?” he asked.

~ Danse ~

Between Abigail’s appreciation of the improvements and her natural tendency to check in with every person she came across, their tour of the settlement took the better part of the day. Danse didn’t begrudge the settlers the time they spent with Abigail; he knew the importance of morale and Abigail just had a way about her that made everyone feel a bit better and more hopeful. She was genuinely interested in the people under her command and they responded to that. He envied the easy way she engaged with people; it was a talent that he lacked, but it was one of the reasons he loved her. 

As they walked around Sanctuary, Abigail had slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers and swinging their linked hands back and forth. These little signs of affection were still so new to him, and he cherished them like a precious resource...like fusion cores; they gave him strength and kept him going. He smiled at his observation and brought her hand up to kiss before tugging her into his chest for a hug.

“What was that for?” she giggled into his neck.

“Oh nothing, I just felt the urge to be close to you,” he said, giving her a kiss and releasing her as they entered the mess hall for dinner. He indicated for her to go find seats and went to get their food.

It only took a few minutes for him to get their meals, but by the time he joined Abigail at the formerly empty table she was surrounded by friends. Piper was just in the middle of a story involving a disgruntled interviewee and his very affectionate brahmin when he slid in beside Abigail at the table. 

“...and after I managed to wipe all the slobber off, it nuzzled me right into a mud puddle,” she laughed. “But after that, the farmer was laughing so hard he forgot why he’d drawn the shotgun on me in the first place.” 

There was a chorus of laughter from the table and Danse let the flow of conversation wash over him. When Abigail wasn’t there, he usually ate with whatever group of settlers he’d been working with that day, and maybe one of her close friends would sit with them. It was nothing like this boisterous crowd, but he was fine with that, preferring quieter interactions with people on a smaller scale; it let him get to know the people he worked with. Now that he thought about it, he could admit to considering a number of the Sanctuary residents as friends. He’d missed the sense of connection and belonging since leaving the Brotherhood, and thanks to Abigail he had that again here in Sanctuary.

After dinner, they walked hand-in-hand down to the river, and simply enjoyed the evening. Eventually, Abigail turned to him and smiled sadly.

“I should get going. I’ve got to meet my contact after his shift ends in a few minutes,” she said.

“I know.” He sighed, not happy about her leaving so soon, but understanding the importance of duty. “I just wish you’d reconsider.”

“Danse,” she began in a frustrated tone, but he cut her off with a kiss.

“I know,” he said again. “It’s pointless to argue, and you know how I feel. So I’ll just urge you to be careful and take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she said softly and raised a hand to stroke his cheek tenderly. “I love you.”

Without another word, she stepped away slightly and disappeared in a flash of light. Danse was left looking at the spot where she’d been and murmured “I love you, too” into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Cura te ipsum_ \- “Take care of yourself”


	5. A verbis ad verbera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail finds herself in deep with the Railroad and Institute plots while Danse and MacCready adjust to being left behind in Sanctuary.

~ Abigail ~

Abigail shook off the teleportation wooziness and looked around the unnatural interior of the Institute. While she would admit to missing the trees and and other greenery from before the bombs fell, the trees in the Institute just struck her as creepy; perfectly ordered and not a leaf out of place, it reminded her more of the fake trees her brother had placed around the tiny towns his model trains zipped through than of anything she’d ever encountered in nature or even in the most manicured parks. It was the sameness and conformity that bothered her, just like with everything else the Institute did, things had to be a certain way or they were “flawed” and needed to be brought into line. She shuddered and went in search of Z1.

It didn’t take long to find him tending to the trees in the atrium. She sat with her back to a tree and nonchalantly asked him what the word from his people was. He informed her that a great number of synths were eager to escape as part of the Railroad’s plan, but they would need weapons. Their conversation was brief, and she nodded her understanding before standing up and walking away. She had a construction accident to help stage.

~MacCready~

It had been a couple of days since Abigail left for the Institute and MacCready had gotten into the rhythm of life in Sanctuary; he had to hand it to Danse and Preston, things were ticking over like a well-oiled machine. In his less charitable moments, though, MacCready wondered if Danse scheduled every last detail of his entire life: _7am breakfast, 7:15 take a crap, 7:30 polish helmet, 7:45 train settlers, every waking hour--be an insufferable jackass._ What Abigail possibly saw in the man was a complete mystery to him. He trusted her judgment in every other thing, but this was beyond comprehension. At any rate, the settlers who came to him for sniper training at least had been shown the basics and knew which way to hold their rifles before they got to him, so that was something. 

In the evenings there’d been a “friendly” card game and bottles of alcohol to pass the time. How he wound up owing Hancock fifty-five caps after their last hand the previous night, he couldn’t quite remember. Probably because of the third bottle of bourbon that’d been passed around. MacCready was pretty sure the ghoul was cheating, but he’d yet to catch him at it. And as his head throbbed and breakfast seemed like a very bad idea, he thought maybe he should just let that be an eternal mystery and bow out of the next game.

One thing MacCready had noticed during his time in Sanctuary was that Danse wasn’t as friendless as he’d previously thought. Sure, he still kept his distance from Hancock, Nick, and Strong (okay, so MacCready had to admit that was just sensible), but there was often a group of settlers he sat with at meals along with a number of Minutemen. It was vaguely surprising that the uptight tin can knew what friends were, let alone had any, and for some reason that he couldn’t quite identify, it made MacCready uneasy. 

As he sat cleaning his rifle by the communal campfire, he did a slight double-take at what he saw approaching. Coming up from the river, followed by a contingent of kids all screaming with laughter, was Danse. He was covered in mud and holding a squirming child in his arms. Through the din of childish laughter, MacCready could make out the occasional cry of “Me next, Mr. Danse!”

Danse stopped in front of one of the settlers and handed her the child. “Yours, I believe,” he said, with...a _twinkle_ in his eye. The mother took the child, shaking her head at the mud, but obviously amused. Danse turned on the children and mimicked a yao guai roar, raising his arms above his head as if rearing up to attack. Squealing with delight, the children turned and ran back to the river. Danse wiped mud off his face and came to sit by the fire.

“Okay, I just gotta ask,” said Piper who had practically spit her drink out when the procession had appeared, “what was all that about?”

Clearing his throat in an effort to salvage his dignity, Danse explained. “I was teaching young Tom there,” he nodded at the child he’d returned to his mother, “how to swim when the rest of the squad decided to ambush us.” 

Piper looked at him disbelievingly. “You’re saying that you got tackled by a pack of kids?”

Danse looked sheepish for a moment. “Er, yes.” He cleared his throat again. “And then young Tom decided to incite a riot of a mud fight in defense of our position, one thing led to another, and then the children were in a full-scale assault. In order to broker a truce, I offered my services as catapult.”

“You got into a mudslinging match with a bunch of kids?” Piper was nearly doubled over in laughter.

“Not quite,” Danse replied. “I wasn’t slinging mud. I was launching the offenders back into the swimming hole. They would climb out of the water and then climb up me until I tossed them back in. Eventually, I tired and deemed a strategic retreat was in order.”

Despite himself, MacCready found he was amused, but because it was Danse, he pushed down the mirth, turning the involuntary chuckle into a cough at the last second, and brought up his best stern face. “You know,” he began, “I’m willing to bet that when Abigail had Sturges make that bathing area, I doubt very much she had this sort of thing in mind.”

Danse immediately straightened up and glared at MacCready, all of the usual tension returning to his stance. “Be that as it may, it was good for morale, and now Tom isn’t afraid of the water anymore. He wouldn’t even cross the bridge to the Red Rocket before, from fear that he’d slip and fall into the river.” With a huff, he got to his feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to clean myself up before dinner.”

Once he’d disappeared around the corner, Piper turned on MacCready, giving him a smack on the arm. “That was rude,” she reprimanded. “And you know as well as I do that Abigail would be laughing her butt off if she was here.”

He sighed and looked away, suddenly ashamed at his pettiness. “I know.”

“Then why act like an ass?”

“Because it’s _him_. If anyone else had come up that bank covered in mud followed by all the kids in the settlement I’d be right there with you laughing, but it’s _him_ and I just _can’t_.”

Piper put her hand on his arm, stilling him. “Oh, Mac, you’ve really got it bad, huh?”

He jerked his arm away and snarled, “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve got _nothing_ and I certainly don’t have it _bad_.” 

The look she gave him was pitying. “Uh huh. And I’m Provisional Governor Graham.” She got up, dusting the backs of her legs off. “Anyway, it’s my turn to cut the tatos for dinner tonight. See ya later, MacCready.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” he mumbled to her retreating back.

~ Abigail ~

The wind at the top of the CIT building was cold, but that’s not why Abigail was shaking and chilled to the bone. The last several days had been gruelling in every way possible and now here she was standing in front of her son as if she was the errant child. Informing the Railroad about the attack on Bunker Hill and the ensuing fight was absolutely nerve-wracking and she had wished for the comforting presence of Danse in his power armor beside her. That is, until the Brotherhood had shown up and she was glad he wasn’t there, while she dodged and ducked to avoid the crossfire. Why she thought she had to do this all alone, she didn’t know, but her instinct was to keep her friends apart from her Institute operations, or risk making them targets.

She came back to the present as Shaun demanded an explanation as to what happened in all the chaos that led to her Courser escort and the synth army to be wiped out and the escaped synths to disappear. He glared at her angrily, waiting for her defense, and in that moment he looked so much like his father it made her breath catch. 

“Well?” he demanded again, “Can you explain what happened?”

Her mouth was suddenly as dry as the wasteland and she struggled to remember her prepared excuses. “Ambush,” she finally croaked. “When I got there and met with X4-18, the Brotherhood was already there in force, fighting both the Railroad agents and the synth army. I tried to persuade X4-18 to hold back and work around the other forces, but he barreled on into the thick of the fight.”

She paused, eyes downcast, and assumed the mantle of guilt she truly felt, if not exactly for the loss of the Courser. “I barely made it through all the fighting, myself, but the synths kept the other forces off me long enough to get to the heart of the settlement,” she sighed, “but I was too late. The escaped synths were already gone. I can only assume that the Railroad agents drew fire away from their hiding place and slipped away.”

“I see,” he said wearily. “I am aggrieved by the loss, but I will take you at your word that it was merely bad luck and not deliberate.”

Abigail let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and looked up at her son. “Thank you, Shaun.” 

He held her gaze and gave her a small, tender smile. A moment of connection passed between them and was just as suddenly replaced by his business-like demeanor. “Now, I’d like you to attend the next meeting of the directorate. It’s time for the next phase of our undertaking and for you to assume your rightful place.”

“Rightful place?” Abigail echoed, perplexed.

“Yes. You’ll learn everything you need to at the meeting,” he paused and extended a hand to her. “Shall we?”

She took his hand and they teleported back to the Institute.

~ Danse ~

Days went by. Danse continued burying himself in the work of training and preparation. He had to admit, the Minutemen were coming along nicely and might actually be considered a trained force, rather than a bunch of rabble armed with little more than some noble ideas of “doing good”. Doing good was a fine ambition, but he’d rather it was backed up by solid focus and preparation. 

The days of work were fine, he liked having a purpose again, but the nights...the nights were hard. Old ghosts haunted him: Cutler; all the squad members he’d let die; Maxson as a child, his face hopeful and filled with awe as Danse talked with him, and then the Elder, his face screwed up with disgust and anger at their last meeting. With a hoarse cry, he bolted upright in bed and took a few shuddering breaths trying to clear the dreams from his head. Sanctuary. He was in Sanctuary. All was well. Or at least as well as it got without Abigail there to keep him grounded.

He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, the feeling that things were alright when she was around and cold existential angst when she wasn’t. He’d never needed anyone to lean on before, mostly because he hadn’t had anyone for most of his...existence, but things were different now. He reached over to Abigail’s side of the bed and sighed; she had saved him in so many ways and given him a new chance at life. He owed it to her to pick himself up and get on with things, to make her proud. 

Deciding that sleep was not likely to return, he got up and headed to the group mess for some breakfast. Even though it was sometime in the early morning hours, there were always a couple people around and either porridge or stew kept warm. Nodding at the Minutemen on their rounds, he grabbed a bowl and took a portion of food to a table near the fire. He ate half-heartedly, gazing into the flames and letting his mind wander. After a few minutes he noted a presence across the table. That synth...that other synth...was sitting there, lighting up a cigarette, which Danse felt was a ridiculous affectation.

“What do you want?” Danse growled.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” the synth replied sardonically, shaking out his match and tossing it into the fire. “We don’t often get a chance to talk, man-to-man as it were, and this seemed the perfect opportunity.”

Danse stared intently at his bowl of food. “And what did you think we needed to talk about?”

Nick exhaled what remained of the smoke that hadn’t escaped his tattered skin. “I’ll be the first to admit I was skeptical about you,” he held up a hand to forestall Danse’s angry outburst, “Let me rephrase that. I was skeptical about how you’d adapt to your new reality. You’re a pompous, judgmental ass, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt because Abigail trusted you and I trust her. These last weeks, seeing how you’ve been determined to make a life here, I’m glad I did. I know I’m not your favorite person in the world, and you probably couldn’t care less what I think, but I thought you should know that I’m impressed.”

Danse stopped stirring the now stone-cold food in his bowl and looked at Nick. “Impressed?”

“Yes. It’s not every man who could learn such truths about himself, ones that shake him to the very core, and come out not only seemingly well-adjusted, but with a sense of purpose that would make the angels weep.” Seemingly lost in thought for a second, Nick took another drag of his cigarette and looked out over the sleeping settlement before continuing. “Hell, in all my time roaming this world, and seeing the same sorts of stories play themselves out time and again, I think you might be one of the most resilient men I’ve ever met. And what is the measure of a man, but how he reacts to adversity? Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Do with it what you will.”

The sound of his spoon hitting the side of the bowl seemed to wake Danse and he flushed. Just why that was, he wasn’t quite sure, but he was certainly surprised by the old synth’s words. Struggling to form an adequate response, he finally looked up and said simply, “Thank you...Nick.” 

It was the first time Danse had ever addressed the synth detective by his name, and with a look of surprise, Nick gave Danse a friendly nod and got up from the table.

~MacCready~

It had been a long day of training and MacCready was more than ready for a drink and a hot meal, but mostly the drink. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned to his current trainees and had just dismissed them for day when he heard the sizzling, crackling noise that meant someone was teleporting in. 

A half-second later, Abigail popped into being in front of him. The static discharge of the teleporter made her hair blaze in a bluish white halo around her head and he thought she looked like an avenging angel from the comics. The light faded and she blinked at him with relief before collapsing into his arms.

“Oh, Mac, I’m so glad it’s you,” she choked out through tears.

“Abigail? What’s the matter?” he asked, surprised and yet gratified at her words, then he heard his mouth say, “I’m sure Danse will be here soon,” and was surprised at himself. But it was apparently the wrong thing to say, because she buried her head against his chest and began sobbing in earnest. Unsure of what else to do, he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair.

He could just make out the words “no, no, no” followed by a few choked breaths, then “I’ve made a terrible mistake”, and lastly “he’ll never forgive me.”

She was just starting to calm down a bit when Danse crested the hill, his power armor glinting in the late afternoon sun. MacCready could see the scowl etched on the other man’s face and was torn between feeling guilty at the intimate way he was comforting Abigail, and utter smugness because _he_ was the one comforting Abigail.

As Danse approached and could make out more clearly what was going on, the scowl turned to concern. “Abi?” he called, tentatively. “What’s wrong, Abi?”

When she didn’t turn to look at him or even acknowledge him, Danse looked to MacCready with a curious expression, to which MacCready could only shrug. He bent his head down to murmur in her ear, “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay. Please tell us what’s going on.”

She sobbed a few more times and MacCready could make out Hancock behind Danse, tucking his shotgun back into his waistband and shooing the rest of the settlers away, saying “Alright, folks, nothing to see here. Let’s get back to it.” MacCready made a mental note to give Hancock the special bottle of bourbon he’d been hoarding as thanks for his discretion.

Danse paced back and forth, clearly at a loss for what to do. Just as the stomping and clomping of the power armor was getting to him, it stopped and MacCready looked up to see Danse getting out of it. The larger man stood behind Abigail and put a gentle hand on her back and rubbed small circles in a soothing motion.

With a shuddering sigh, Abigail disentangled herself from MacCready and turned into Danse who tucked her head under his chin and held her close. It was too much for MacCready, to have the opportunity to hold her like that and just as quickly lose her back to Danse, that drink was definitely next. Turning from the couple, he muttered “I’ll just be at the bar if you need me,” but neither of them gave any indication they’d heard him as he strode back up the hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A verbis ad verbera - From words to blows_
> 
> Nick was channeling MLK:
> 
> “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” -Martin Luther King, Jr.


End file.
